A Changing Constant
by DiosaDeOrquesta
Summary: Severus Snape encounters again the one woman who could make him beg. SSBL. Please R&R. Will be 3 chapters.


This story is by two writers, DiosaDeOrquesta (or snarkysnape) and Crying Cinderella. In this, DiosadeOrquesta wrote BL, and CryingCinderella wrote SS.  
  
Disclaimer: If we owned them...this is what they'd be doing!  
  
Also: This story is HIGHLY R....so please, if you're under 17, don't read. thanks  
  
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He sat alone in the dark and dank basement of Number 12, Grimmauld Place that dreary night and snapped his fingers, apparating to a mostly deserted nearby pub, having decided that the residence was far too boring.  
  
"Figures..." He muttered under his breath, searching around for the barkeep, and noticing that the pub was deserted. Finding him, he ordered a stiff drink and sat down in a corner by himself, not noticing the hooded figure in the booth behind him.  
  
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She sat silently, slowly sipping a glass of burgundy when he came in. Her eyes, ever-watchful from the shadows, followed him into the booth in front of her. He looked tired, frustrated. A grin curled over her dark lips. Excellent.  
  
He sighed, noting the dinginess of the place, privately thinking of the dreariness of the surroundings, and especially of its lack of young witches...or even witches at all.  
  
She watched as he looked around, and realized he was looking for company. Her cold eyes glittered. She could solve his problem.   
  
His eyes scanned the room, looking everywhere but behind him, and he missed her. Her grin widened. His reaction would be priceless. She sat back, her black clothes fluttering around her as she waited until he was relaxed, until he had taken in a few drinks and was comfortable. Then she would strike.  
  
He slumped down a bit, relaxing into the dusty booth, sipping at his bourbon and wondering where all the locals were. It was a Friday night, after all, and there was even rain outside, enough to scare any young witch into the pub. But there was no one. Aside from the bar keep, he was the sole person there, and it was thoroughly depressing.  
  
The rain pounded down on the ceiling in a tranquil, calming rhythm and she watched him physically start to be affected. He still hadn't noticed her, the black figure cloaked in shadows, and she noticed that not only their appearances, but their clothing was also similar. A quirky smile crossed her lips. She couldn't wait to put what she had planned for him into action, but she bided her time, waiting, watching. A voice from the back of her mind asked what the barkeep would think of the two of them. They looked so much alike, they could be siblings. She almost laughed aloud. It would be great to see the unknowing barkeep's face as she fucked the man in front of her.  
  
He sighed, taking another long quaff from his drink, preparing to leave the pub. It had been pointless in coming. If he had wanted to drink alone he could have done so up in his room at the castle or even at the one they had designated as his in Grimmauld Place. Sighing as he stood, he glanced over to the barkeep, who was asleep on his stool.  
  
He rolled his eyes, not bothering to toss him the knut that was owed for the drink as he stretched his legs, ready to move toward the door.  
  
She was pulled from her musings suddenly, and sat up with a jolt. Muttering a spell, she slipped completely silently up behind him. The lights went out. She felt rather than saw him stop, and put an alabaster palm on his shoulder.  
  
He froze in his tracks, the lights gone and a hand upon his shoulder. Grabbing his wand from his back pocket, not caring whether or not he blew off his buttocks, he spun around to face the owner of the hand...but saw no one. One might have thought that attacker couldn't be seen in the darkness, but his vision was perfect and could see the blackest of hairs against the ebony night sky, and not seeing whom the hand belonged to unnerved him greatly. Yet he remained silent.  
  
She smiled as he turned, and she spun with him. She noted the expression on his face, impassive to most, but she knew. She could pick anything out of those features. She had, indeed, taught him most of that cool facade he wore. She noted his eyes widen as her hair flew out behind her when she moved, and took a deep breath. Her hand had moved when he had turned, and she grabbed his hand, gently stroking the top of his wrist as she did. The lightning flashed, and for one second she stared into his eyes.  
  
He pulled back his hand roughly.  
  
"I do not take lightly to games. Show yourself else I shall blow you to bits." He held his wand at the ready, hardly amused by this little game. His eyes squinted amid the darkness, though he knew full well that whoever it was was well hidden with a concealment charm.  
  
The edges of her lips twitched upwards as she stood right in front of him, their bodies almost touching, yet he saw nothing. She leant forward; her lips mere centimeters from his ear, and saw his grip on his wand tense. She let her lips part, and let out the smallest, softest sigh.  
  
"Ahh." She smiled, and was sure he could feel every move she made, every breath that she took, and she slowly circled around him, drawing ever closer, her wispy clothing brushing against him. He growled a bit in frustration, knowing the voice but unable to place it.  
  
"I'm warning you...I'll blow you out of this pub right now." His eyes narrowed, his head moving as she did, his sense of hearing perfect. He could feel her moving around him, in a circle, and stood tensely, waiting for her to attack. Assuming of course it was a her, by the soft, feminine sigh.  
  
She was unphased by his threats, and stopped right behind him. His face was still fixed forward, but his eyes darted to the side, and she pulled her body as close as possible without touching, letting her scent and mere presence tease him. He wouldn't be able to hex something he couldn't see, they both knew that, and she laughed softly when he growled. Her eyes sparkled as the sound touched his ears, and he stiffened straight as a board.  
  
That laugh. That maniacal laughter, he knew it anywhere. It was the laugh of a woman running in the family of a man he truly hated.  
  
"Bellatrix..." he hissed, jumping about to face where he thought she stood. "Such a coward suddenly?" he mocked, loosening the grip on his wand, but only slightly so.  
  
In another flash of lightning she released the concealment charm, and smiled at him for a quick, illuminated second. She could barely make out his form in the darkness, but her body was so aware of him that she could find him despite the night. Her eyes traveled up and down his body; scrutinizing, seducing. She knew the effect of her eyes; the dark orbs that felt you, touched you while they saw you, and she watched him shudder involuntarily.  
  
"Severus." She purred, the name pouring off her lips like liquid. He shuddered.  
  
"What do you want?" he asked, feeling her presence, keeping his eyes closed...not wishing to have to drink her in as well.  
  
"The million dollar question, Snape." Her lips tingled as she breathed his name, and she watched him feel it too. She saved her words as she always did, using them to caress, to undress, and she stepped closer, so close that her breasts gently touched his chest. She looked at him and pouted her lips.  
  
"You're a smart boy. Do you honestly have to ask?" She pushed a fraction of an inch closer.  
  
He smirked, catching her game, and his fingers slithered over the swell of her breasts where they rested against his chest.  
  
"Hmm...a most clever trick, Bella...however...I've already got you figured out." He took a step back, teasing her. "Sorry, you're not my type."  
  
Her eyes narrowed and her lips tensed. He was not going to get away that easily. She took another step forward, pushing herself into him again. She ran a tongue over her lips, which had gone dry from his touch. She cursed herself for letting him affect her, but vowed to get to him. It'd been long, but she had known what buttons to press so many years ago. It was going to be an enjoyable challenge.  
  
"Really?" She asked as her eyebrow quirked up and her gaze drifted down. She eyed his crotch blatantly before dragging her eyes back to his and smiling with those dark eyes. Not yet, but almost.  
  
He frowned.  
  
"Honestly Bella, you lost your touch years ago...not that you really ever had it to begin with." he smirked at his biting words and turned once more from her to go, trying desperately to fight off the effect her voice was having on him.  
  
Her whole face contorted with anger, and she pulled out her wand in an instant, locking the doors with a curse that could only be reversed by her. She was NOT going to let him get away, and she would make him regret those words. Determined not to lose control, she hexed the barkeep, who fell over, temporarily petrified. She didn't want there to be witnesses.  
  
He quirked a brow.  
  
"Really Bella...getting to be a bit extreme aren't you?" He stepped toward her, his voice dripping as his firm grip took her wand from her fingers.  
  
"Do try and behave yourself...else you'll end up like the barkeep, and I shall promise you it will be at the hand of my wand." His tone was low and his voice almost seductive.  
  
Her face showed no sign of emotion, and she stilled her fingers from grabbing at the wand she had just lost. She simply stared at him, straight into his eyes, challenging him with them. Her hand came up slowly, and she placed it softly, like a whisper, against his chest. Her fingers tightened, and she gripped his clothes.  
  
"Is that what you want, Severussss?" She breathed, lowering her voice in pitch and putting every drop of dripping sex she could into it.  
  
"Do you really want me to behave?" She took a sudden step forward, and her hips pushed against his as she closed her eyes and turned her head, letting her cheek brush against his nose. He was going to play her game.....but he would lose.  
  
A sudden crack and loud pop and he was gone. But she too had vanished. A moment later he stood before her, though the setting quite different.  
  
"No one tests me and gets away with it." He smirked, circling her like a large undomesticated cat ready to strike its prey. The walls had vanished, and were now replaced by the night sky. She glanced around, and saw Hogwarts sparkling in the background.  
  
"Interesting." She commented as he started to walk onto the school grounds. "Very, very innnteresting." Her crazed grin took its place as she followed him along a worn dirt path.  
  
He glanced back, making sure she was following him, and downed the rest of his drink, which he had kept in his hands. He sneered at her, a triumphant glare in his eyes.  
  
"I heard about your husband." The words were biting, mocking.  
  
She paused for a second, trying to decipher his meaning as she locked eyes with him. She cocked her head to the side, and waved her hand absentmindedly, recalling the day when she had entered the department of mysteries with the Death Eaters, with her master, and with her husband. Dumbledore had managed to catch a few of them, Rudolphus Lestrange included. At the very moment he could be awaiting the Dementor's Kiss. She smiled at him enigmatically. It really didn't bother her.  
  
"I'm sure you did." She said simply, following extremely close to him on purpose. Her clothing swept against his cloak. "One might've wondered where you were during the occasion."  
  
He shrugged, not answering her. They had reached the castle, and he led her past the main entrance, past the side entrances the students used, and back toward the Forbidden Forest. She cocked an eyebrow at him, and he ignored her.  
  
"Going to take me into the forest and try to get me killed?" She asked conversationally, her dark eyes alive and glittering. He glanced back at her, his lips twitched upwards slightly.  
  
"We both know that any horror the forest has to offer would run for its life the moment it set eyes upon you, Bella."  
  
She smiled proudly to herself as her hand "accidentally" brushed his arse.  
  
"Indeed." She stated triumphantly, and he scowled.  
  
"You haven't changed a bit." He offered, drawing nearer to the castle. His eyes flashed darkly as he undid a concealment charm on the stone wall.  
  
She cornered him, looming in closer and pushing him up against the cold stone. Her hands fell on either sides of him, and she leaned towards him, pinning him with her body. Her knee drifted up in between his legs, and he looked away, trying to stop his body's natural reaction to her. She pulled back suddenly.  
  
"Neither have you." Her eyes dropped to his now easily noticeable erection, and his scowl deepened. He grabbed her roughly by the wrist and dragged her through the door.  
  
The air was thick and damp here, and the light was scarce and dim. The temperature dropped instantly. She found herself in the Hogwarts dungeons. He led her to a classroom, and unlocked his door and his wards. He stopped, then began to circle her as she had done to him only minutes ago.  
  
She laughed aloud, her voice high and loud close to his ear. So he needed to play on his home turf, where he figured he would have the advantage? She shook her head, surveying her surroundings.  
  
"So this is where you torture the children of the future." Her voice was laced with mockery and sarcasm as she sneered, "Beautiful," at the damp, dark walls. Inside however, her stomach fluttered, secretly excited by the dim lighting and hollow feeling. Her words echoed through the room, and she cocked an eyebrow as she stared into his eyes.  
  
She followed him around her with her gaze, as he looked her up and down. She had to force away a shiver as he licked his lips unconsciously.  
  
"Though somehow," she paused, letting her full lips part and waiting until his eyes were fixed on them as she gently bit her bottom lip, "the scare tactics you use on small children just don't seem to affect me." She smiled sweetly at him, taunting him with her high voice and smile.  
  
He stood with his arms crossed over his chest, his black cape billowing about, propped up against the wooden door that led into his bedroom.  
  
"You were saying, dear Bella?"  
  
Her lips twitched in the slightest movement of a scowl as he ignored her. She took a menacing step closer, something dark glittering in her eyes. She moved until their faces were mere inches apart, and she saw surprise flash in his eyes. She could tell that he thought she was going to kiss him. She grinned inwardly and pushed him hard against the wall, but the movement had only mild sexual undertones. It was her show of power.  
  
"I said, dear Severusss, that you don't scare me."  
  
He allowed himself to be moved back into the wooden door, breathing very shallowly but then simply turning from her attentions, entering the dark room before him.  
  
"Well with that said, I've had enough of your ramblings. Goodnight."  
  
And without a further word or gesture, he closed the door upon her.  
  
She allowed a grin to curl over her lips this time, and paused for a few moments. He wouldn't have brought her here simply to say goodnight, and they both knew it. She stared at the door in front of her, wondering how long it would take before he thought she left. She flicked her wand effortlessly, and a chair made its way silently to her. She took a seat, staring at the wood and contemplating the man that had long fascinated her.  
  
He wandered about his room, removing his boots, socks, and trousers as well as his thick black cloak and robes. The wife beater was next; getting tossed into the closet, seeing is he would never own up to owning such muggle articles of clothing. Drawing out the black velvet dressing robe, he left only his boxers as he sat in a comfortable chair by the hearth, lighting a small fire and fetching his reading specs before burying his nose in a book, awaiting her barging entrance.  
  
She could imagine what he would expect of her, and she ran her fingers through her black, silky mane, challenging him with her absence. She hadn't seen him for years, and she had changed much in that time, whether he knew it or not. He, she mused, was probably exactly the same. Same cold demeanor, same warm, though often hidden, heart. She would not give him what he expected, and instead conjured an instrument with the wave of a well-manicured finger, and began to clean the smooth wood with a rag, her hands traveling almost instinctively over its curves.  
  
He heard her at his door, but ignored her, delving into the book. He felt the blood flow between his legs, and calmed himself with a deep breath. He hadn't seen her in ages. He had changed, though she had seemingly not, but that would be dealt with later. His eyes were thick laden in the book, trying to drown her out.  
  
She made no noise then, as her hands polished, fingers stroking the large, magnificent piece of wood between her legs. She physically slowed and softened her breathing, becoming completely silent. She had learnt many things in prison, and one was not to be heard if it was not desired. He had always been fascinated with his violin, she remembered. He used it as an escape. She also picked up on this interest in his absence, and her long years of solitude, and had learned that music could save her. She grinned widely, wickedly, as she poised her bow to play. He would never have expected it of her.  
  
He sighed, staring into the fire, awaiting her. It was very unusual for her not to just come barging in, perhaps she had changed, perhaps all those years in prison had taught her patience, or perhaps she had just given up and gone home, either way he was growing tired.  
  
Her mind whirled, what to play, what to play? No matter, she didn't need music in front of her, she didn't need the memory of familiar notes, she had always learnt fast. She poised two fingers on a string, and started to vibrato before the bow even hit the string, so that the sound would be smooth, deep, and echo through the hollow room. Softly she let one low note ring out, so quietly that it just as well might not have been there at all.  
  
He quirked a brow. Had he heard a cello? Impossible, he had banned them from the dungeons long ago. Unless, of course, it was her. Perhaps she had conjured one, and was attempting to lure him out of hiding with it. The note had been low, but to his perceptive ears, it might as well have been a volcanic eruption, he missed nothing. But stir from his chair he did not, returning to his reading as if he had not heard the note at all.  
  
She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and allowed her body to melt into the instrument, playing not by ear, but from her heart, her fingers moving in a pattern she neither knew nor imagined. The notes came almost of their own accord, long and melancholy and haunting, and she played them impeccably. She smiled, her head bent close to the instrument, wishing she could see his face, hear his thoughts. A melody seeped into her notes, born out of desire and darkness, and everything she had ever represented to him. He shuddered; he must put a stop to the racket at once before it consumed his soul as it always did.  
  
Rising from his chair, he padded slowly to the door, pulling it open. He stood before her, arms crossed over her chest.  
  
"In case you were wondering, all those years in prison did do a number on you. It must have taken away your sense of music; because that is the foulest strand of anything I have ever heard." He smirked, his words biting and cold, designed to sting. "Terrible." he muttered and turned to shut his door without looking to see how effective his words were.  
  
She ignored him, seeing that she had at least gotten to him. So it would take more than the usual to lure him to her, and she had more than one trick up her sleeve. He had always tried to resist her, to push her away, to tell himself that she was bad for him, but he had never succeeded. She had sighed, bored, when he told her that they couldn't be, that he couldn't speak to her, couldn't look at her. She knew he would be back, and she had simply waited until his resolve faded and he came back to her, wanting release and the comfort of her arms. It would be no different now, but he was harder now, and so was she. No matter.....it would be even sweeter when he begged her for it. She paused momentarily, her song ended. There was one song that had always rocked him to the core, that made him burn and cry and rage when he heard it, one song that could release every one of his emotions and draw him out from anywhere on earth. One song that would fascinate him and leave him awed, speechless. She took a calming breath, she could not, and would not, mess up, and closed her eyes, bent her head, and began to play the familiar melody of March Slav.  
  
He had gotten back into his room when he heard her begin. She wouldn't use that old trick. It would simply not be right, but when had she ever been one to follow rules? She knew how much it shook his soul, but he would simply have to resist. Trudging back to the door as she began her song, he flung it open and stood there.  
  
"Did I not tell you once before that you were causing ear splitting racket? Go away!" he thundered, trying to sound composed.  
  
She simply smiled, her head bent so far down that her lips curved against the wood, and let the haunting melody of the funeral march ring through the dungeon. She didn't speak, didn't look up, and merely played, her vibrato so deep and dark that she felt it through her entire body. She was surprised at how he was taking her, as she shocked him with her musical ability, and then with the song she had never been able to do more than hum.  
  
He had opened the door once more, unable to stand it, and grasped tight the neck of the cello, pulling it from her.  
  
"Enough!" he thundered, looking down to her, his black eyes filled with an emotion unlike any she had seen before.  
  
Her eyes narrowed, yet she still said nothing. Her bow hand was still poised where her strings had been, and she simply put her hands where her cello had been, letting her fingers play the imaginary notes, air-bowing, knowing that as he watched her he could still hear every note, even when he was holding the cello in his hands. Her voice came then, as soft and haunting as her playing, and she hummed the tune, paying as much attention to her bow technique and vibrato as she had when she the instrument had been in front of her.  
  
Tossing the wood to the floor, it splintered, and he grabbed her wrists in one hand, her throat with the other.  
  
"Stop it. Stop it now." his eyes glinted malevolently at her, betraying a deep brooding storm cloud.  
  
Her eyes widened momentarily, and she closed them as the wood hit the floor with a crash. It didn't matter if it could be repaired in the wave of the hand, she had seen what had been her best friend for years, her best friend when he had been so far away, freer than her by law but not by heart, been destroyed, and she forced back tears.   
  
She tightened her lips and scrunched her face in deep concentration, and gathered every ounce of strength she had in her. He needed her, she knew, no matter if he let himself believe it or not, and she regretfully needed him. She needed his hope, his loyalty, the goodness that was buried deep inside, and he needed her arms and kisses and comfort. There would be no comfort tonight, at least not any time soon, and pure rage and lust burned through her as she shoved him backwards, her sudden, forceful movement knocking him to his knees.  
  
He fell back, growling, jumping up and grabbing her again, throwing her against the wall.  
  
"Do not toy with me, witch. You are fooling with the wrong wizard!" he growled, his face mere inches from hers, the grip around her neck tightening. His glance did not break from hers though he knew the cello had splintered, he had heard it. It hadn't been his intention to break the instrument, but she had angered him so and he would not allow her to escape.  
  
She had meant what she had said earlier, and had no fear of him. His grip on her neck hardly panicked her, and she stated simply.  
  
"You need me. You want me. The only one toying with you is yourself." She glanced down at the shattered remains of her salvation, and her bow dropped nonchalantly from her hand. In a moment she had disapparated out of his grip, and stood before the door with a repaired instrument in her hand.   
  
"When you see that, you'll find me." She spoke softly, with a bite to every word. She would not cry in front of him, and she moved to open the door, determined to show no weakness to him. Let him sulk in his misery and deny himself his need of her if he wanted, she wouldn't let it tear her apart. In the back of her mind she heard a voice tell her that he wouldn't come to her, perhaps he had changed. She forced it out of her mind, hoping that it was wrong, and made to leave.  
  
Her bow lay before his feet on the floor, and she took a last glance at it, and at him.  
  
His hand landed on her shoulder, as she turned from him, turning her back to him.  
  
"I am not the needer. Only the needed." he stared into her eyes, pulling her close, but not touching her.  
  
"The only one being fooled here is you." His finger stroked her cheek, watching her skin quiver, knowing that after all these years, she had not changed, nor had he. He waited for her to lean into his touch before stepping back towards his room, awaiting her to follow.  
  
She closed her eyes, following his presence. Their passion had always been intense, hate and greed and lust and need rolled into one joining of two bodies. Their passion had almost consumed them before, and she took deep breaths, preparing herself to do whatever she could to him, to make him beg and plead as he once did. She would follow, she would take his lead, but this was not her surrender, and she would still make him beg by the night was over.   
  
It would ease her own denial of her need for him.  
  
She waited as she felt him stop, still with closed eyes. She breathed softly, her lips parted, inviting. She stood motionless as she anticipated his touch. 'Let him make the first move, let him have a false sense of control.' She needed to hear him scream, to fulfill the dark wishes of the evil heart that only he could soften, and she planned, and waited.  
  
He slowed, stopping outside of his bedroom door, touching her cheek again.  
  
"Goodnight..." He breathed into her ear and entered his room, closing the door but not latching it, so if she so chose, she could follow. He was strained, pushing his level of resistance as he crossed the room to the hearth, sitting back in his chair, his back to the door. 


End file.
